The Lamb and the Dragon
by HandshakeTramp
Summary: Konan faces the bitter reality that is Pein's indifference towards her. As Konan struggles to get over Pein, will he realise just how much he needed her or will his motherfucking pride get in the way again ? REVIEW.
1. Paralyzed

His deep voice echoed in her mind. His words playing like a tape, over and over until they were engrained in her memory

_Look at yourself, you're pathetic._

It was true, that's what made it so painful. The man she loved had confirmed her insecurities and doubts, when it was him that she needed to reassure her that she was worth something.

_You really think I'd want you?_

Truth is, she had believed, deep in her heart, that he wanted her, maybe even loved her. She convinced herself that he just masked his feelings to avoid getting hurt and to protect his precious ego. His actions, his words, his very manner contradicted one another every moment and up until now she had accepted this. She stayed out of his way when he was cold, even if all she wanted to do was touch him, hold him, possibly even help him; and when he called her to him she obeyed like a dog on a short leash. He owned her completely and it was tearing her apart inside to know that she meant less than nothing to him.

_Leave now; forget me like I've forgotten you._

She couldn't think anymore. She could barely breathe. She stared down at her quivering hands, hardly daring to move incase the churning in her stomach intensified. She blinked her glassy eyes slowly and was surprised to find that for once there were no tears binding her dark eyelashes together. She supposed that after all this time, all this crying over **that man**, she had run out of tears.

. . .

She rose from the edge of her bed, after hours of staring into space, waiting for something inside her to make sense. She felt numb. Moving to the door, her eyes fixed on the floor as her hand gripped the cold handle and opened it slowly. The creak of the door was muffled, as were the noises of a man's fist meeting a wall over and over again. He was angry. At least she had affected him, if only negatively. She looked up at the ceiling, where the noises were coming from. Every time the wall was struck she winced. It was only a matter of time until it was her face taking the brutal assault, he wouldn't be able to keep it together for long. He was always volatile and she was always sensitive, they were never going to work.

Her hands were still shaking slightly as she struggled to keep her mind focused on anything but rejection. She couldn't force him to love her anymore than she could force herself to hate him. She slowly made her way down the darkened hallway, the only light coming from the setting sun beyond the windows. The floorboards creaked under her lightweight as she made her way into the kitchen, heading quickly towards the sink. Her stomach had finally given up on her. Once the contents of her stomach had sufficiently burnt her throat she slammed on the water, breathing heavily as the sink was washed clean. Suddenly, her hands tightened on the edge of the sink as she realized the violent cussing and thumping from above had ceased.


	2. Border of pain and romance

There was a silence that seemed to go on forever as her eyes stared determinedly into the gleaming, metallic surface of the sink. She slowly reached up, turning the water off so all she could hear was her blood roaring in her ears and her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel his intense eyes that she knew so well burning into her back.

_Forget me._

He truly was a fool if he thought it would ever be that easy. She could never forget his beautifully expressive eyes, which seemed dead to all but her. Her knuckles were white as she straightened up and forced herself to let go. She knew he was merely standing by the door, watching her for signs of weakness.

'Need something?'

She surprised herself. Her voice was strong, cold and unsympathetic. Never in her life had she been able to control her emotions, she hoped her pretense was good enough to trick him into believing he meant nothing to her. She waited, her back still towards him as she turned her head to the side slightly, just enough to see him out of her peripherals. He took a few steps into the kitchen, towards the counter opposite her. She could feel her whole body tense as his presence began to overwhelm her senses.

'I need some bandages.'

His once almost warm voice was flat, his anger evident even now.

'Why? What have you done?'

She questioned, knowing him well enough to realize this was just a ruse to make her feel even worse. She turned completely around, her arms hanging limply at her sides as she let her eyes meet his, only to look away immediately.

'I cut my hands, now just give me the fucking bandages.'

_Useless bitch._

A ripple of fear ran through her as a flash of anger appeared in his eyes, but this cynicism inside her was growing and taking over her common sense. Her eyes traveled to his hands, which were cut and covered in blood.

'Get them yourself, I'm not your servant.'

The minute the words had left her mouth she regretted it. She folded her arms over her chest and fixed her eyes on his, terrified of his reaction but forcing herself not to show it. He clenched his wounded fists and grit his teeth together, his fury towards her rising. He took a few, slow steps towards her, so she was less than a metre away from him. He leant forward, his face close to hers as he spat the words venomously at her.

'You are my slave. You'll do as I say, or you'll regret it.'

She stared him dead in the face, her expression emotionless even as she felt the tears well up behind her eyes.

'I'll do whatever the fuck I like.'

_You're pathetic._

This final act of defiance was all that was needed to push him too far. His eyes spun into a frenzy as he bared his teeth. He raised his fist, snarling at her as he pelted the side of her face like a piston.


	3. Is your face still sore ?

As his crimson, slippery fist collided with her stunned face she was forced sideways, clutching the counter for support as she put her hand to her cheek, shaking with a mixture of fear and anger. She looked up at him from her crouched position as he stared at his own fist, seemingly in disbelief at his vicious potential. She clenched her jaw, straightening up as she spit blood from her mouth.

'Hit me all you want, you fucking bastard, it won't change anything.'

She braced herself for another strike of his hard fist; it was the only contact they would ever share. He looked up, his eyes meeting hers and for a moment a hint of regret glinted there before he saw her reaching towards a drawer containing aggressive looking knives. A dark smirk crossed his features as he acknowledged her movements.

'You? **Hurt me**? You wouldn't, you can't. You're too weak, besides, all I have to do is give you one little kiss and you pathetically fall for me again. Come on then bitch, do your worst.'

Her hand hovered above the sharp implements, her eyes searching his for some recognition or compassion, her shoulders heaving with her heavy breathing and a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, contrasting brilliantly with her snow white skin. She knew herself that she'd never be able to fight him, and the tears began to spill over her cheeks as he laughed without humour. She slammed the drawer shut as her eyes fell to the ground. He moved towards her, taking her chin in his hand as he exerted power over her. He made her look up into his eyes as he reasserted himself.

'See? I won't hurt you if you do as you're told.'

He bent his head closer to hers and she felt herself wanting him all over again, but her heart was no longer elated by his touch and the feeling of his breath mingling with hers made her throat tighten and her stomach produce bile. She knew that this meant **nothing** to him.

_I've forgotten you._

Just as he went to press his cold lips to her own, which were at the point of screaming hate filled poison at him she drew herself up, slamming her knee in between his legs, resulting in him releasing her and doubling over in front of her at which point she struck again, slamming her fist into the back of his head as hard as she could.

'Not anymore.'

She strode out of the kitchen, leaving him there, finally having his ego dented. She kept her head high and her walk strong until she was out of sight, at which point she fell against the wall, tears streaming down her face as she stumbled along the corridor back to her room. She slammed the door as hard as she could, her chest heaving with heart breaking sobs, locking and bolting the door shut.


	4. My Broken Bride

Terrified of his wrath, which, like all of his vices, had the capability to take over him. She checked the lock on her door over and over again before leaning her back against the hard wooden door and trying to control her breathing. She shut her eyes, trying to block out everything. His words were carved into her eyelids; it was all she could see. Her head rang with the sound of his fist connecting with her face. She could taste metal, her blood filling continually filling her mouth even though she spat the sticky substance onto the floor next to her.

_Why bother telling me how you feel? It doesn't matter._

She could have kept her mouth shut. Accept that her destiny was to come to his every beck and call, watch him using other women just the same as he used her. What had happened to the boy she knew? The boy who would never **hurt** her, who would **fight** for her and had the ability to feel something other than anger. She sighed shakily, too afraid to leave the door incase he tried to get in, she was sure the locks wouldn't keep him away. Her sobs grew thin as she slid to the floor, her eyes still shut tight, as if trying to erase the memory, and her cheek throbbing from the blow. Her tongue searched her mouth for the cut and she drew her knees up to her chest, burrowing her head into them as her heart tore completely in two. She had been fighting in wars since a child and she had never felt an agony quite like this. A pain that ripped through her entire body and seared her brain, leaving internal burns as a constant reminder that Pein would never love her.

. . .

Her head jerked up suddenly. It was pitch black although pinpricks of light lay just beyond the window. Her eyes were red from tears and weary from slumber. She didn't remember falling asleep, and she was still slumped against the door. Her limbs were heavy and she had no energy to move. Tipping her head back until it hit the wood, she stared up at the lock on the towering door. Should she leave? Dare she venture into the open where the predator could catch its prey? Of course not. She moaned drearily, her head was thumping and her cheek was slightly swollen. Gently she rose from her cold seat and made her way to the bathroom. Avoiding the mirror at all costs, she removed her piercing roughly, throwing it in the general direction of the sink and proceeded to undress. Throwing her thin clothes, including a bloodied top into the corner of the room she climbed into the shower. Turning the water on distractedly, her mind reeling along with her stomach as she let the water wash over her. Wishing it would clean her of her impurities like the water had cleaned the sink so easily earlier.

. . .

For two hours she had leant against the wet wall, waiting for the water to disinfect her of her sins. Eventually she slid out of the shower, ignoring the hair that stuck to her bruised face. Quickly redressing, ignoring the droplets of water slinging to her skin, making her clothes stick to her uncomfortably, she left her piercing out and her cloak abandoned. Suddenly she realized she had never taken her paper flower out of her hair. She glanced back at the shower to see the sullied pulp of origami lying there disheveled and pathetic. She scoffed at the sight. What a perfect metaphor.


End file.
